


A World Unseen: Vol II

by Jahoan



Series: A World Unseen [2]
Category: Danny Phantom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Divination is not as useless, Friendly Basilisk, Gen, Harry and Danny are cousins, Horcruxes, Prophecy, Reincarnation, Swords & Sorcery, Wandlore, reincarnation cycle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jahoan/pseuds/Jahoan
Summary: A Wraith banished and a Basilisk tamed, Harry and Danny have survived two years at Hogwarts so far, but going into third year, secrets will be uncovered, secrets that will change everything people know. Meanwhile, an old enemy prepares to make his move.





	1. Plasmius' First Strike

_ December 25, 1986 _

It was a snowy Christmas day for Amity Park. After breakfast and presents, the Fentons spent the day at the park, which had been coated in a thick layer of snow. The kids played in the snow, having snowball fights and building snowmen. Eventually, they were joined by their friends Sam and Tucker, while their parents engaged in par for the course glaring contest. They spent the afternoon and well into the evening playing in the snow, even holding a small picnic, with a meal of turkey sandwiches.

As night fell, Sam and Tucker left, leaving only Jazz, Danny, Harry, and the youngest Fenton, Danielle, who was just old enough to walk, and was now learning to skate. 

That was when disaster struck.

Danielle found herself on a particularly thin patch of ice, which cracked and broke. Danielle started to fall into the water.

“No!” the three children all shouted. Danny’s hand shot out and Danielle found herself suspended over the hole in the ice as if by magic. The commotion drew their parents’ attention, and they came rushing down. 

So caught up in worrying for Danielle, they didn’t see the shadow under the ice beneath Danny, at least until it was too late.

A pitch black form burst from the ice, and a set of talons lashed out, catching the eight year old in the throat and sending him flying with a streak of red. 

Danielle fell, hitting the water with a loud splash and sinking like a stone with a shriek. 

Jack and Maddie charged at the monstrous figure, wands drawn and casting stunners. The scarlet bolts disappeared into the figure’s form, and a cruel sneer played on its lips. Its other arm shot out in their direction, streams of crimson flying from its fingertips. The crimson streams brought both adults to their knees. 

“Leave them alone!” Harry shouted, leaping onto the monster and wrapping his scrawny arms around its neck. A loud sizzling sounded from where he touched the monster, and an inhuman scream tore through the park. The shadowy monster twisted its head around, followed by the rest of its body, and hissed. 

Harry went flying a second later, his coat stained red. As the devilish abomination turned its crimson gaze on the eldest Fenton daughter, a loud howl pierced the night. A blur of black and green slammed into the side of the monster, sending it tumbling to the ground. The blur came to a stop, and stood defensively over Jazz.

It was a werewolf, with fur black as a grim, and piercing green eyes. It was wearing what looked like had once been a bright green hoodie and jeans, that were now faded, torn, and tattered. He was also small for a werewolf, he couldn’t have been older than Jazz. The wolf growled protectively over her, and the monstrous shadow actually looked frightened for a second, before it disappeared as though blown away with the wind. 

Jack and Maddie ran up to their children, and the werewolf high-tailed it away, disappearing before anyone could do anything. 

Jazz was unharmed, but the same could not be said for her brother and cousin.

The monster’s claws had raked across his chest, and their healing spells only sealed his wounds, which had already started to scar.

They found Danny lying in a bank of snow, which was red with blood. The slashes in his throat had sealed themselves, and he was breathing, at least. But his hair was now marked with a stripe of white down the center.

Of Danielle, they could find no sign. Locator Charms came back unresponsive, and they had no luck with Summoning Charms.

Danielle was gone.


	2. The Battle of Grimmauld Place

_ June 28, 1993 _

The week after the summer holidays had started, the motley crew of the Fenton Family, accompanied by the last remaining members of the Black Family by name, and Sirius’s old friend Remus Lupin, made their way two down from the Fenton residence to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a decrepit-looking townhouse that was invisible to non-magical eyes. 

The windows were blocked with black curtains, while the brickwork had not been scrubbed in ages, grime dating back to the Industrial Revolution clinging to the facade. The wrought iron fence was caked with rust, and the white panelling had been coated to an unpleasant, smoky gray. The faded black front door opened into an eerie hallway foyer. The only light was from a large chandelier and gas lamps, all caked with so much dust that their wasn't even enough light to read by if one were directly next to the fixtures. The ancient wallpaper was fading and peeling, while the carpet was threadbare, and not in the well-loved way the rugs in the Gryffindor common room were. The whole place smelled like Death had swept through on his pale horse, and had left his buddy Pestilence to use it as a summer home. A Magizoologist would likely have a field day identifying all the pests that had taken residence.

There was also an umbrella stand fashioned from the leg of a troll, which Harry found by tripping over. The stand made a loud thud against the ground, which set off the most annoying of the security measures in the house.

“ _ THIEVES! THIEVES AND BLOOD TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS AND FILTH! BEGONE FROM THESE HALLOWED HALLS! _ ” At the end of the hall, a pair of moth-eater velvet red curtains ripped themselves open to reveal a screaming portrait. The woman, if it could be called that, depicted in the painting was drooling, skin yellowed with age stretched taut as she shrieked at the top of her non-existent lungs. A black cap sat eschew on a head of thin colorless hair. Gray eyes speckled with madness flitted around, trying to see who had dared evoke her fury. 

“Well, I guess someone was paid off to immortalise Mother.” Sirius deadpanned as the living clapped their hands over their ears.The four adults in the group charged the portrait, weathering insult after insult as they tried first to remove the portrait, which proved impossible, before forcing the curtains back together, which was enough to quiet the portrait.

“The Ministry can’t detect any underage magic use in the house, so you kids might as well get your wands out.” Maddie told the children, who were not inclined to disagree. 

The party had only advanced a few steps before they heard a series of thuds coupled with a shuffling sound and croaking mutters that nevertheless sounded obscene.

“ _ Lumos, _ ” Everyone whispered, their wands lighting up before being pointed at the stairwell. 

“Thieves defiling Mistress’ house? Kreacher will show them to defile Mistress’ house. Yes he will.”

“Kreacher? You’re still alive in this crypt?” Sirius identified the being.

An ancient house elf stood in shock on the stairs. His skin and ears were sagging from his frame, and he had a bulbous, hooked nose and similarly sharp chin. Mad, bloodshot blue eyes locked onto Sirius, gazing in disbelief. “No,” the elf muttered. “Bad blood traitor Master has returned. He should not befoul Mistress’ house. Oh, what will she say?”

“She’s made her opinions quite clear.” Harry quipped, a remark that fell on deaf ears.

“No, Kreacher is dreaming. Kreacher is having a nightmare.”

“With this decor? I’m not surprised.” said Danny.

“Unfortunately for all of us, you’re not.” snapped Sirius with a growl. “I’m back, so you’re going to have to get used to it.”

“Kreacher’s Mistress will not approve,” the elf croaked back. “Mistress disowned Bad Master, cast him out of the family. Mistress will never welcome him in her house.”

“What about the son of Regulus?” Leonis stepped up. Kreacher’s eyes widened.

“Master Regulus liked Kreacher. Kreacher must serve the line of Master Regulus.” Leonis blinked.

“Well, then I order you to help clean this house and not get in our way.” Kreacher shuffled back upstairs. “Kreacher will do as Great Master Regulus’ Son wishes.”

“So, does that take of him, Uncle Padfoot?” Leonis asked.

“Yeah, at least he seems to like you.”

The work was slow-going and dangerous. It took several barrages of cleaning spells that were for the most part experimental to actually clear the grime from the walls, floors, and fixtures. Their work was further slowed down as every loud noise woke Mrs. Black. The most progress they made was getting rid of the dust the obscured the lights.

With only the barest of successes, the Party returned to the Fenton house to rest and regroup. 

 

_ June 29, 1993 _

The first thing Harry did when the group returned to Number Twelve was to hit the troll-leg umbrella stand with the strongest Blasting Curse he could muster. It woke Mrs. Black up in a greater fury than the day before, but in the Metamorphmagus’ opinion, it was worth it seeing the tripping hazard blown to smithereens. 

“ _ Incendio! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

“ _ Arania Exumai! _ ”

That was the sound that could be heard from the dining room, where a massive nest of spiders had taken residence. The flashes of light slowly whittled down the horde that had taken over the Black Family’s fine china collection.

After the dining room, the kitchen was the next room to fight back. Thankfully, there was little in the way of cursed items there, but the rot was unbelievable. Not even the strongest repair charms could truly restore the crumbling shelves, and everything in the pantry had to be tossed. What hadn’t spoiled had fallen victim to the rats. 

 

_ June 30, 1993 _

Danny could feel his skin crawl as they approached the drawing room, which had been locked with some impressive charms. As Sirius and Remus worked on the lock, Harry withdrew the dagger-sword he had recovered from the Chamber of Secrets. Remus finally got the door to swing open, and everyone gave a gasp at what they saw within.

Standing in the center of the room was a shadowy, undefined figure. It stared at them with crimson slits. The only other spot of color on it was a golden locket hanging from its neck. The shadows in the room darkened, and coalesced around the figure, which seemed to become more solid.

“ **_Expecto Patronum!_ ** ” Four voices shouted. A silvery wolf, dog, lioness, and bear all charged the interloper, whose eyes widened noticeably as the conjured guardians rammed it. Claws and teeth tore into the entity, weakening its hold on the room. In a last, desperate move, the figure reconfigured itself into a mass of dark tendrils, the locket at the center, which tossed the Patroni to the side. 

Harry clutched his scar. Danny stood defensively over him, and sent a bolt of green fire at the eldritch monstrosity. The entity shrieked as the fire ate through its tendrils. 

“{Show me your weakness!}” Harry demanded in Parseltongue. The locket opened, and the darkness became more solid. 

Harry leapt over Danny and brandished the sword, which glowed with ancient emerald runes. The sword cleaved through the mass of tendrils, and batted the locket into the ground. The blade pierced the locket, which gave out one last inhuman shriek before cutting off. Smoke drifted from the remains of the locket, and Harry heaved from the exertion. 

The remains of the locket were placed into a conjured box to be studied later. 

“Okay, I’m just going to say it,” said Jazz in her most matter-of-fact voice. “We need professional help.”

By that evening, the Squeak-eazy Cleaning Company had been hired to clean Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The trained and certified witches and wizards would be getting paid overtime and hazard pay for the job.

 

_ July 1, 1993 _

While the cleaning company of seventeen witches and wizards swept through Number Twelve, the Fenton parents turned their scientific instruments on the remains of the locket. The locket had been large and gold, with intricate metalwork along the edges. On the face of it was a large letter ‘S’ made of glittering emeralds. It had hung on a simple but ornate gold chain. 

Now, the metal had been tarnished black and curled like burned paper. Many of the emeralds had been cracked or stained black, while the glass inside was little more than glittering shards now. The chain had corroded and looked ready to snap with a single wrong look. In the chamber of the locket was a stain of ichor. Running it through their analysis equipment - which the Fentons had built most of themselves - the ichor turned out to be dark magic residue, not surprising.

What was surprising was the sheer concentration of dark magic in the ichor, along with the trace magical signature. The dark magic in the locket had been more than any mere curse or enchantment. Someone had performed the Darkest Art on the locket, and there was only one modern wizard who would stoop to those levels of depravity. 

Voldemort had created a Horcrux, and Harry had destroyed it.

But there was one thing still bothering them. 

The soul does not  _ split _ in that manner unevenly, and there was far less than half of a soul in the locket. 

The implications were unnerving to say the least.

 

_ July 2, 1993 _

While Number 12 was being cleared out, Sirius, Remus, and Leonis stayed with the Fentons. During this time, Remus decided it would be useful for the children to know Wandless magic.

“Now, most witches and wizards think that they are useless without a wand.” Lupin began his lecture. “The truth is, wandless magic is performed by every witch and wizard before they ever touch their first wand; it is labelled as  _ accidental magic _ . In times of stress or other strong emotion, a witch or wizard can perform accidental magic. Some are able to perform accidental magic at will, at which it is no longer accidental, but true wandless magic.” Lupin looked at one of his students.

“Harry, your mother was able to levitate herself and make flowers bloom in her hand, among other things. There are some who will say that wandless magic is inferior to wanded magic, and only useful for party tricks or as a show of power. They are wrong. Students at Uagadou School of Magic in Africa are able to cast magic without a wand as well they can with one, while those who attend Illvermorny across the pond are generally able to perform most charms without relying on a wand.

“The key to wandless magic is focus. We use wands because they are able to channel magic so easily, hence they are known as  _ magical foci _ . Many cultures use wands, some use gemstones or other jewelry, some use staffs. In fact, for the longest time, staffs were the primary focus used by Eastern magical cultures. But, I’m getting off into a tangent. We use external foci because it requires less concentration to cast spells. To cast magic wandlessly, you must be able to feel your own magic, and shape it to your will. Professor Flitwick explains casting spells as ‘The Wand, the Word, and the Will’. In truth, it is the Will that is most important. When you perform the wand movements to cast a spell, you are physically shaping the magic to your will. Eventually, you will learn how to cast without physically performing the movements, but that is NEWT Level magic, and I don’t want to deny Professor Flitwick the chance to teach you himself.”

That earned a chuckle.

“Anyway, The Word is also used to shape your magic when you cast spells. This is the most mentally involved part of spellcasting. The spells you learn at Hogwarts are mostly based off of latin, with the occasional germanic, gaelic, or arabic roots thrown in. However, the words themselves are less important than the  _ way _ they are said. The syllables in the incantation are more often than not designed to align with the wand movements for that particular spell. For example, when you cast the Levitation Charm, you say  _ Wingardium _ on the swish, and  _ leviosa _ on the flick.”

Lupin demonstrated by levitating the table he had been leaning against.

“As you could see, I spoke the incantation in time to my wand movements. Now, we move into the backbone of spellcasting, the Will. Without Willpower, you’re just waving a stick while saying some funny words. With Willpower, you are bending magic to obey your commands.”

Lupin demonstrated by waving his hand and gesturing at the table, which lifted off the floor once again. He set the table down, and placed four feathers in front of his pupils.

“Now, I want you to concentrate on your magic, and channeling it through your hand like you would with your wand.”

Danny looked intently at his feather. He pointed his hand at it, and focused on it,  _ willing _ it to rise in the air. 

The feather stayed put, and remained stationary on his subsequent attempts. 

‘This would be so much easier if I could see what I’m actually doing.’ He thought. A lightbulb went off in his head, and he flared his senses. A swirl of colors manifested in his visual range. He could see the magical auras of the other people in the room, glowing like a nimbus on each of them. He could see a dark thread coiling through Lupin’s aura, like a ragged river. In the background, the wards of Fenton Works swirled with all the colors of the rainbow.

Focusing on his own aura, he saw the green glow around his hand, and focused on pushing his magic into it. The glow brightened, and his hand tingled with power, waiting to be released. He shifted his focus to the feather, and gestured at it with his charged hand, imparting the magic built up there into the feather.

As he completed the gesture, the feather lifted into the air. 

“Well done, Danny!” Remus exclaimed. Danny’s concentration broke, cancelling his Sight.

The feather drifted down of its own accord.

It took seven more tries to get the feather to float on air without the aid of his sensory ability.

Harry had gotten it down by his twelfth try, Jazz by her twenty-third, and Leonis by his fifty-second.

By the time Leonis was able to levitate his feather, it was time for lunch.

The rest of the afternoon was spent perfecting their casting and beginning on the  _ Lumos _ Charm.

By the time the four of them would be returning to Hogwarts, they would be able to cast the entire first year charms curriculum without the aid of a wand.


	3. Daisy Evans

_ July 25, 1993 _

There were a number of reasons most witches and wizards elected not to become Animagi. The Ministry of Magic’s requirement of all Animagi to register negated the primary reason most would choose to do so, which was to hide or otherwise have a means of going unnoticed. The difficulty of the transformation was another deterrent, as the majority of witches and wizards lacked in patience or skill to undergo the process. Lastly, an Animagus cannot use a wand while in their animal form, denying them access to most of their magic. There was, however, a single wandless discipline that all witches and wizards were taught in their sixth or seventh year of their magical education.

It was for this reason no one noticed the sudden appearance of a gray tabby cat with spectacle-like markings in the middle of London.

The tabby cat strutted behind a tree, and a stern-looking woman with square spectacles clad in a deep emerald power dress stepped out and made her way down the street.

Minerva McGonagall strode down the road of buildings with a slight sense of trepidation. She looked at the address printed on the letter.

_ Daisy Evans _

_ Room 27 _

_ Wool’s Orphanage _

_ London _

Professor Minerva McGonagall considered herself one of Albus Dumbledore’s chief confidants, ever since that day he had told her about his life before he had become a teacher. As such, she was one of the few people alive who knew the significance of Wool’s Orphanage.

After all, the last wizard to come from there grew up to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The place did seem to have improved since Dumbledore’s visit. There was sparse grass in the courtyard, compared to the barren soil of the ‘Thirties. Of course, that was the only real improvement, as the building itself was as grim as Albus had described it. She stepped up to the door and knocked once. 

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with the matron, Mrs Locke, I believe?” She asked the woman who had answered the door.

“Come in, my office is this way.” Mrs Locke said. She was skinny, and had sharp features.

Mrs Locke led her down the black and white tiled hallway to her office, which in all honestly looked more like a sitting room. She invited McGonagall to sit on an ancient but sturdy-looking chair while she herself took a seat behind a cluttered desk.

“I must admit to some confusion on receiving your letter, Ms McGonagall,” the matron stated. “Daisy’s never had a family visitor, ever since that inconsiderate cow left her at the front gate and drove off without a second thought.” .

“Not once?” She asked. The Transfiguration Professor was mentally putting the pieces together. She knew that Lily had a sister who disliked magic, but there seemed to be something else. To quote the Bard: Something was rotten in the State of Denmark.

“No, and the other kids are, well, unkind at the least.” Mrs Locke continued. “She doesn’t really have any friends, and the children who do try to befriend her get bullied by the rest. No one wants to be friends with the ‘scarred freak’, as I’ve heard her called. It’s ridiculous, really, its so small you can barely see it, but they pick on her for it anyway.”

McGonagall’s lips thinned, an expression known to most Hogwarts students that they believed should be accompanied by sparks from her nostrils or breathing fire. 

“And then there have been a couple incidents with some of the children, things I can’t explain.”

“Could you, perhaps, tell me about these ‘incidents’?”

“Well, there was Carol Lindt, she had a lame arm until she accidentally bumped into Daisy. The next thing anyone knows, her arm is good as new. They actually became friends, despite the other children’s jeers, at least until Carol got adopted.”

That was not what McGonagall was expecting. 

“And then there was the trip we took to the zoo. We were in the reptile house and she was  _ talking _ to the boa constrictor, and it looked like the boa was talking back. One of the kids pushed her to the side, and the glass disappeared, just plain vanished. Douglas Vernon nearly fell in, but she kept him from tipping over the railing. And how did he repay her? He gave her a black eye! Honestly, kids these days.

“I honestly think it would be best for her if she didn’t have to come back here. Everyone has limits, and I do not want to be there when she reaches hers.” Mrs Locke concluded. “I suppose you’d like to see her?” She asked as she got to her feet.

“Yes, I would,” said McGonagall, rising as well.

Mrs Locke led her up the stone stairs to a long corridor. She knocked twice on the first door to the left before entering.

“Daisy? You’ve got a visitor. This is Ms McGonagall. She wants to talk to you about - well, I’ll let her explain it.”

McGonagall entered the room, and Mrs Locke closed the door behind her.

The first thing Minerva noted was how sparsely the room was furnished. The only furniture was a wrought-iron bedstead, an ancient wardrobe, a plain wooden chair, and a nightstand. A girl sat on the gray blankets, fiddling with a pendant. She noticed McGonagall, and quickly sat upright, fumbling with the pendant.

She had long black hair, thin features, and almond-shaped green eyes like Lily’s. The scar Mrs Locke had referred to was a crooked line on her brow over her left eye. It was so thin as to be nearly invisible, and hardly cause to bully and belittle a person.

“How do you do, Daisy?” McGonagall stepped forward and held out her hand.

“W-who are you?” the girl asked timidly as she shook it. McGonagall drew up the old wooden chair. She would not be surprised if it were the same chair Albus had sat in all those years ago.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall. I’m a Professor.”

“Medical or educational?”

“I am a teacher.”

“Oh, I thought maybe you were a doctor, and you could do something about this.” she gestured to her scar, and Minerva’s heart sank in sympathy. 

“No, sadly, my talents lay elsewhere. I work for Hogwarts. It is a school of magic.”

“Magic?” she repeated in a whisper.

“That’s right,” said McGonagall.

“I can do magic?”

“What is it that you can do, that no one else seems to be able to?”

Her fingers wrapped around the pendant. McGonagall took a closer look at it. It was a smooth piece of black stone, with a faint, almost recognizable etching on the surface. The wire that wrapped around the stone was crudely fashioned, and the stone itself had a soft, soothing glow to it at her touch.

“I can keep bad things from happening to people. I can make crystals ward off the nightmares. Sometimes I feel emotions that aren’t my own. Sometimes, when people bother me, they stop, and just run off crying without me doing anything.”

Her legs shook, and she sat back down on the bed, looking at her hands.

“I knew I was different, mum always called me a ‘freak, like her sister’.”

“Your mother?”

“Her name was Petunia. Mum and Da’ were driving, and there was an accident. My older brother and I survived, and  _ dear _ Auntie Marge took Dudley while leaving me here. She said she wouldn’t raise a ‘scarred freak’ like me even if she was being paid for it.” Daisy had a sneer on her face, one which made her scar stand out on her furrowed brow.

McGonagall took her hand in hers to comfort her.

“I knew your mother’s sister. She was a witch, like you. She was one of the brightest witches of her age, and it was my great pleasure to teach her.”

“Are you a witch too?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Can you prove it?”

McGonagall drew her wand, and pointed it at the threadbare pillow on the bed. In a second, it was replaced with a gray tabby cat, which quickly curled up in Daisy’s lap, purring. Daisy scratched it behind the ears.

“That is a branch of magic known as Transfiguration; changing one object into another. It is one of the core subjects taught at Hogwarts.” She pulled out the Hogwarts letter, and let her read it. The look of wonder on her face was far more pleasant than her earlier sneer, and was one she had seen on dozens of children. A look of worry crossed her face, and McGonagall could guess what her next line would be.

“I haven’t got any money.”

“That is easily remedied. Hogwarts has a fund to provide financial assistance for those who need it to buy their books and robes. And this summer, the fund has been greatly increased, so you need not worry about having to buy them second hand.” McGonagall pulled a leather money-pouch from her pocket, and presented it to her. 

“Where do you buy spellbooks?” she asked, admiring a gold Galleon. 

“In Diagon Alley,” said McGonagall. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. If you need help with finding anything-”

“When can we go?” She asked, looking up with a look of childish glee.

Minerva checked her pocket watch. “We can go now, if you’d like.”

She nodded enthusiastically, a smile lighting up her face.

\---

McGonagall led her out of the orphanage, and pointed her wand at the curb.

With a loud ‘bang’, a purple triple-decker bus screeched to a halt in front of them. Despite the outrageous exterior and additional level, the design looked to be from several decades ago. 

The conductor stepped out. He was rather young, caught in that awkward stage between a teenager and a young adult, and wore a purple uniform of the same shade as the bus.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” the conductor announced. He noticed Professor McGonagall, and took an involuntary step back. “Hogwarts business, Professor?”

It seemed that Professor McGonagall was well known, and likely intimidating.

“Indeed, Mr Shunpike. Two tickets to Diagon Alley, bill it to Hogwarts.” 

The inside was the bus was far bigger than the outside, with a wood-panelled interior. The seats were an assortment of mismatched chairs spread across the three levels. 

The trip was rough. The bus jolted at every corner and obstacles like trees and even buildings seemed to leap out of the bus’ path. After several stops, with commentary punctuated by a shrunken head with a Jamaican accent that hung by the driver’s seat, they arrived at Charing Cross Road, in front of a dingy-looking pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

“This is our stop,” said Professor McGonagall.

Inside, the pub had a distinct rustic look to it. The timbers that constituted the low ceiling were clearly several hundred years old. Despite the morning being sunny, the thick, grimy windows kept the interior lit mostly by candles and a couple of lanterns by the bar. The place was mostly empty, save the few robed patrons nursing flagons of unidentifiable concoctions. McGonagall led her past the old, toothless bartender through the back door to a brick-lined alley. The only notable feature was an old rubbish bin against the wall. McGonagall strode to the back wall and drew her wand.

“Watch carefully,” she said. “This is how you access the Alley.”

She tapped a brick that looked more worn than the rest, and the bricks rearranged themselves to form an archway that opened onto a crooked street. Witches and wizards milled about between the odd-looking shops, and toward the far end of the Alley, at an intersection with another street, a large marble building stood like a monolith.

“What’s that big white building?” Daisy asked.

“That is Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Witches and wizards will store their money and valuables there, and they do exchange Muggle and Wizard currency.

“Muggle?” Daisy asked.

“People without magic are known as Muggles.” McGonagall answered. “Since you do not need to visit Gringotts at this time, I believe it would be prudent to purchase your robes first. Madam Malkin’s is this way.”

Professor McGonagall led her to a large shop called  _ Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. _

Inside, the shop had a layout not unlike a department store, with racks of clothes arranged like islands in a sea of tiled flooring. There were also mannequins showing off different styles and patterns of robes. Most of the garments were floor-length robes that looked like fancy dresses, but there were some styles that included separate tops and pants, like the  _ Adventurer _ style, which consisted of a burgundy robe over a pair of rugged trousers and a gray tunic-like top. There was also a separate section for dress robes, which looked much fancier and likely more expensive than normal robes.

They were greeted by an youthful, if tired-looking assistant.

“Welcome to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasion…” she noticed McGonagall. “Professor! How can I help you today?”

“Good morning, Miss McNiven,” said McGonagall. “Miss Evans here needs to be fitted for her Hogwarts robes.”

The assistant looked at Daisy before speaking in a stiff, formal tone that said she had done this to the point of tedium.

“Right this way, please.” She directed them through a side door to a fitting room, and had her put on a baggy white robe while a floating tape measure with what looked like a fountain tip pen on the end flitted around her, measuring her waist, chest, and height and writing the measurements down on a piece of parchment. Then the assistant came in with a black robe trimmed with silvery-white, which Miss McNiven adjusted based on the numbers on the sheet. When that was done, she had Daisy try on the robe, and pinned it in a couple of places to make sure it fit properly.

“The trim will change color once you are sorted at Hogwarts. Red for Gryffindor, yellow for Hufflepuff, blue for Ravenclaw, and green for Slytherin.” McGonagall said when asked about the colors.

The school robes were rather plain, with the mantle around the shoulders matching the trim, and buttons that ran to the bottom edge of the mantle. There were also nearly-invisible pockets near the waist, disguised by the folds of the robe.

Daisy walked out of Madam Malkin’s with three school robes and a cloak for winter, along with a pointed hat like the Professor’s and a pair of dragon-hide gloves, which had a rough, scaly texture to them, compared to normal leather gloves. Surprisingly, all her purchases fit inside a single paper shopping bag. Miss McNiven did warn her that the charm keeping the bag like that would wear off by the end of the week. 

On McGonagall’s suggestion, they stopped at another clothes shop called  _ Madam Agnes’ Muggle Apparel _ . The shop held an assortment of normal clothing, albeit heavily outdated in many cases.

Daisy felt like she was visiting a thrift shop or flea market while there. Some of the clothes there looked like they had gone out of style in the ‘Sixties; honestly, only comic book and characters wore jumpsuits without being a pilot of some kind! 

Daisy was able to purchase some old floral-patterned sundresses, along with a couple of blouses and skirts for when wearing her school robes wasn’t required.

Her thrift shop analogy was reinforced when she only spent a single Galleon on the entire wardrobe.

Their next stop was  _ Lorcan Wizarding Luggage _ , where Daisy got a three-compartment model that was standard for Hogwarts students. The first compartment was for clothes, the second for books, and the third was for the rest of her equipment, such as her cauldron and telescope, which she would be getting later.

Thanks to McGonagall, the heavy wooden trunk was easily carried once what the Professor had called a ‘Feather-Light Charm’ had been applied to it. 

The next stop was Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, where she got her telescope, as well as scales and phials for Potions class. She purchased a pewter cauldron for brewing potions at  _ Potage’s Cauldron Shop _ , and a kit of potions ingredients from  _ Slug & Jiggers Apothecary _ to go with it.

Afterwards, McGonagall had her stock up on sheets of parchment, quills, and ink at  _ Scribbulus Writing Instruments _ . The shop had a veritable library’s worth of parchment and quills that varied from simple feathers to the rather expensive  _ Dicta-Quill _ , which wrote down anything the user told it to.

“Why do we have to write with quills?” Daisy asked as she left the shop.

“When you write with a quill, you impart a tiny bit of your magic into the ink. It makes it more difficult to forge your signature, for instance, as well as making magical contracts binding. It is also far easier to enchant a quill than a pen. Lastly, the wizarding world went into hiding when quills were the primary form of writing, and we are notoriously slow to change, particularly when it does not seem completely necessary.” McGonagall explained.

They had lunch at  _ Fortescue’s _ , an ice cream parlor and chip shop run by a kindly old man who had an air of ancient wisdom about him. Daisy briefly overhead a conversation between him a girl who looked a couple years older than her. They were discussing medieval witch burnings and why they lost their effectiveness in the fourteenth century.

After lunch, McGonagall led her to get what she called “the most important item for a witch or wizard.”

Her very own wand.

The shop was ancient, paint that was once a vivid royal shade had faded with age, and the gold lettering spelling ‘ _ Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. _ ’ were only barely visible. Even so, the small shop crammed between two other building had a sense of  _ presence _ , like it had always been there and would always be there. Daisy was jolted out of her musings when McGonagall gestured for her to enter. 

The inside of the shop reminded Daisy of an antique bookstore, low, natural lights, and a thin film of dust seeming to cover everything. The shop had three other occupants, two redheads, father and son by the looks of it, having a discussion with a wizened, gray-haired old wizard with piercing, silver eyes. 

“To be able to cast any decent magic with a secondhand ash and unicorn wand is nothing short of remarkable. Perhaps… yes, willow and unicorn hair, fourteen inches.” The younger redhead took the light colored wand, and silver sparks shot from the end. The boy’s father handed over a handful of Galleons, and they turned to leave, running right into Daisy and McGonagall.

“Blimey,” said the boy, looking at Daisy. She quickly drew in on herself, more than a bit self-conscious at the attention. The boy seemed to realise this.

“Sorry, it’s just.. Your eyes look just like Harry’s.” 

“Harry who?” she asked, confused.

“My best mate, Harry Potter.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

The boy looked a bit taken aback.

“Let me guess, you're the first in your family with magic?”

“I had an aunt who was a witch, but that’s all I know.”

“Well, you’ll be hearing a lot about Harry. Everyone knows about the story of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “Don’t let him hear that I said that, though. He hates being famous.” 

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” Daisy held out her hand. “Daisy Evans.”

“Ron Weasley,” he shook it, before jumping back at McGonagall’s voice.

“Mister Weasley,” she said in an authoritative tone. “I do hope to see your grades in my class improve this year.”

Ron nervously nodded his head, before his father led him out of the shop.

“See you later, Evans!” Ron called out jovially as he left. 

Ollivander turned to his new customers, and looked at McGonagall.

“Ah, Minerva. Fir and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, stiff.” His gaze turned to Daisy.

“I remember those eyes,” he said. “I have already sold two magnificent wands to members of your family. Your aunt favored a wand of willow and unicorn hair, well, i say favoured, but it is really the wand that chooses the witch.”

Ollivander shuffled into the stacks of wands on the shelves, and came back with a long, narrow box. 

“Holly and unicorn hair, ten inches,” he said, Daisy carefully picked up the wand.

“Go on, give it a wave.” 

Daisy swished the wand, which did nothing. Ollivander took the wand back, and returned with another box.

“Let’s try a fir and dragon heartstring, not unlike the good Professor’s.”

Daisy waved the wand, which heated up in her hand, causing her to drop it on reflex.

“No, no, definitely not dragon.” Ollivander muttered as he retrieved the dropped wand.

“Black walnut and phoenix feather, eleven inches.”

Once again, the wand gave no meaningful response, save a slight twitch.

“Hmm, perhaps… Recently, I have been in correspondence with other wandmakers, particularly across the pond. One of them was kind enough to send samples of the cores they work with.” Ollivander brought out a box that looked much newer than the others.

“Hawthorn and Horned Serpent horn, ten and three-quarters inches.” 

The second Daisy’s fingers wrapped around the wand, she could hear a pleasant hissing sound in her ear, like a garden snake that had just been fed to contentment. The wand felt warm in her hand, like a comforting mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter night. She waved the wand, and forest green sparks followed the trail traced by the tip through the air. 

“Marvelous,” Ollivander congratulated, before growing serious. “Hawthorn is a wood of conflict, gifted with both healing magic and curses. Be wary of backfires with a Hawthorn wand. Serpent horn, as I have been told, is sensitive to Parseltongue, and is known to warn its owner of danger with a low, musical tone. I say this many times to many witches and wizards, but I will say it once again.  _ I expect great things from you, Miss Evans _ . That will be seven galleons.” 

After her wand came the second most important tools for a young witch or wizard.  _ Flourish and Blotts _ was apparently the most popular bookstore in Diagon Alley, as it seemed to be getting the most traffic. Of course part of that might have been the crowds pressed up against the window, trying to get a look at an iron cage full of books that had  _ eyes  _ and _ teeth _ , and were snapping and tearing at each other, to the fear and frustration of the shop assistant, who was wearing what looked like an old blacksmith’s apron and the gauntlets from a suit of medieval armor. McGonagall shook her head and sighed. “Hagrid,” she muttered under her breath.

The Professor led Daisy to a less busy section of the store, labelled ‘ _ Welcome to the Wizarding World _ ’. McGonagall pulled out two booklists. One was the standard Hogwarts-required textbooks, while the second was a list of books recommended for incoming ‘muggleborn’ witches and wizards. Among the title she collected were books like  _ An Introduction to the Magical World _ by Charity Burbage,  _ Magical Theory  _ by Adalbert Waffling,  _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _ ,  _ Modern Magical History _ ,  _ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One _ ,  _ A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration _ , and several others. McGonagall also let her choose up to three books of her own. 

Her choices were  _ Basic Healing Charms and Counter-Curses _ by Urquhart Rackharrow, and  _ The Magical Properties of Serpents _ by Phillipus Theophrastus. The latter drew a quirked eyebrow from McGonagall, but she didn’t say anything against it.

Before returning to the orphanage, McGonagall cast a spell on Daisy’s trunk that made it shrink until it was able to fit in her pocket.

“Just tap the trunk with your wand to unshrink it,” she said, before passing her one more slip of paper.

“Your ticket for the Hogwarts express. The train leaves at eleven o’clock the First of September. If you need help getting onto the platform, look for someone wearing robes.”

Daisy took the ticket and nodded.

She walked through the halls and up to her room, ignoring the jeers of the other children, and spent the rest of the day reading Bathilda Bagshot’s  _ A History of Magic _ .

 

_ July 27, 1993 _

At noon, Daisy was roused from her reading of  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ by a knock on her door. She hastily hid the magical textbook under her mattress.

“Daisy, you have a couple who would like to meet you.” Mrs Locke called as she opened the door to admit a man and woman. The man wore a worn brown leather jacket over otherwise professional dress, and had sandy blonde hair with kind brown eyes, while the woman looked a bit like a brown-haired Morticia Addams, her dark eyes carrying a similar kindness to them. 

“I guess we should introduce ourselves,” the woman said. “My name is Andromeda Tonks, this is my husband Ted.” 

Daisy looked at them with a slight sense of concern. Would she have to keep her magic secret from them? 

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re all magic here.” Ted reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a wand. Daisy breathed a sigh she didn’t know she had been holding. 

This could all work out.


End file.
